Even Ghosts Get Hungry For Chinese
by Orange Sodie
Summary: Two things make Flack nervous - ghosts and Aiden. Spoilers for 'Till Death Do We Part'. FA.


Even Ghosts Get Hungry for Chinese  
by Carolina

"This isn't what I had in mind when you asked me out to dinner," Don Flack said as he stared at the entrance of the Staten Island monastery, intimidated but trying not to show it, scared but trying to appear strong, for his reputation's sake. The place looked colder and spookier at night, and he didn't know why, but suddenly the coat he was wearing wasn't thick enough to prevent a chill from riding the rollercoaster down his spine.

"Don't flatter yourself, Donnie," Aiden said next to him, holding a bag of Chinese take out in one hand, a six-pack of beer in the other, and smiling proudly. "I didn't ask you out to dinner."

Flack finally tore his eyes off the building in front of him and looked at her suspiciously. "Didn't you ask me to have dinner with you?"

"Yeah, but you make it sound like it's a date," she complained, handing him the cold beer and stomping her feet in place in a vain attempt to get warm.

He decided to ignore that, because he wasn't sure he wanted to get into the details of his vague, flirtatious, headache-inducing relationship with Aiden. Too complicated. "Then what are we doing here?"

"We're here because you need to confront your fears," Aiden explained.

Flack frowned unconvincingly. "What fears?"

Her face fell and she looked at him, her expression nearly mocking. "Flack, come on. I know you're scared of ghosts. Everyone knows."

"I'm not scared of ghosts, Aiden," he replied defensively. "Just because you and Stella feel the need to mock me every time you two get together doesn't mean everything you say is true."

"Okay, if you're not scared of ghosts then why are we still standing here?"

"Because," he said, took a second to come up with something, anything, preferably quickly. But his mind was completely blank. "This is a crime scene."

"No, it's not. We solved the case, remember?"

'Dammit!' he thought and cursed at his lack of imagination. He tired to come up with another excuse but Aiden began to walk ahead of him. He watched her hesitantly, and a part of him admired her courage. The other part of him resented it, resented the fact that she'd had the ability to drag him all the way here in the first place, resented the fact that for some reason she could do whatever she wanted with him.

When she realized he hadn't followed she turned around, and the frustration was evident in her tone. "Come on," she exclaimed, but rolled her eyes when he didn't move. "Flack, come on, don't be a chicken shit."

"This is stupid, Aiden."

"No, it's not. Come on, fess up."

"We're not a couple of 15-year-olds," he said.

"Thank you, I hadn't noticed that," she said sarcastically. When he looked around reluctantly and didn't say anything else, she shook her head. "Okay, I'm going inside and I'm going to eat my dinner, _alone_. And if something happens to me you'll have to live the rest of your life knowing you could've prevented my death but didn't."

"Now you're just being a drama queen," he said.

"Me?" she said. "You're the one who won't go in there because you're scared of ghosts."

"Aiden—"

"Bye, Flack," she said, and he watched as she walked into the monastery and disappeared into the darkness. He waited a couple of seconds, waited for her to come out and get in his car and forget about this stupid idea of hers. But seconds went by and nothing happened. He stared at the ground, kicked a little rock with his shoe and tried to convince himself there was nothing about this place to be afraid of. Nothing. Urban legends were not real. Ghosts weren't real. The Staten Island monastery was nothing but an empty building, a place for kids to get high and prank-call police stations and joke about strange noises.

There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, and with this thought in mind he walked over, stood by the entrance and listened. Everything was quiet inside but the couple of drops of water that fell into puddles, evidence of the rainy days they'd live through this week. Even when his eyes adjusted to the darkness he couldn't find her, and suddenly that made him even more nervous.

"Aiden?" he called out and his voice echoed through the walls, allowing him to hear his own, hesitant tone. No response. He took a step forward, one foot inside the room, and one outside as a precaution.

"Aiden," he called again but nothing much happened, and while a part of him knew she was playing tricks on him, the other part began to wonder if ghosts were capable of murder...

"Aiden—"

"Boo," Aiden jumped next to him and smiled amusedly when his body nearly jumped to the ceiling.

"Don't do that!" Flack shouted, betraying the fake bravado he had managed to put on just a couple of minutes before as he rested his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

Aiden chuckled as she watched him try to stay cool and collected, only he was having a hell of a hard time doing so. There were goosebumps on his neck and he looked everything but amused, and suddenly she felt bad. As much as he tried to convince her he wasn't scared of ghosts, she knew he was. Maybe she'd gone too far with this. "Aw, I'm sorry."

He threw her an annoyed look and readjusted his coat. "I'm out of here."

"No, come on, Flack," she exclaimed and grabbed his hand before he had the chance to flee. "I won't do that again, I promise."

"It wasn't funny, Aiden," he said sharply.

"It was a _little_ funny," she joked.

"That wasn't funny either."

"Okay, okay," Aiden said dismissively. "I apologize. Now come on, I'm hungry."

Flack sighed as she began to drag him back inside. He tightened his grip on the six pack of beer – because if he tightened his grip on her hand instead it would certainly give away his fear – and looked around reluctantly as they walked. This was insane. _Beyond_ insane. What the _hell_ was wrong with this woman? Why couldn't she be normal, run away from cockroaches, shriek whenever she saw a rat, ask him to defend her when she was in trouble? Why couldn't she wear pink and be disgusted by dirt and just be simple, easy to figure out?

Then again, a voice reminded him, if she _were_ like any other woman maybe he wouldn't like her so much. There was something about her courage, her strength and determination that made him feel completely inadequate about himself. He'd hoped those feelings would wane with time, but over the years they had only grown into a strange force that seemed to have a life of its own sometimes. He could still hide them, come up with a million excuses as to why he always felt nervous when she was around – though he had been running out of credible ideas lately – and generally be cool when he needed to be. But sometimes he wondered how long before he betrayed himself with his actions. She had always played the fake ignorance game better than he had, or ever would. If there ever came a point in his life when he had to depend on his acting skills to survive, he wouldn't last a day.

"I know men sometimes complain that women like pricey restaurants, Aiden, but this is nuts," he joked.

"What can I say? I'm a cheap date."

Flack chuckled nervously. There was that word again. Date. A familiar tension suddenly fell around them and he tried to ignore it, as he knew she was, but as usual it wasn't working very well. That, in turn, increased the tension tenfold. He was suddenly glad it was dark inside the monastery, because the expression he knew he wore on his face spoke volumes about these strange feelings that only seemed to surface when Aiden was around.

He was also glad they were wearing gloves, because his hand was so sweaty due to his fear and her presence that he could probably ball it into a fist and squeeze out enough sweat to fill a pool. A part of him tried to ignore the fact that he was holding Aiden Burn's hand, and it was tiny and feminine and fit perfectly in his grip. The other part of him tried to ignore the fact that he was inside the Staten Island monastery, at night, with Aiden Burn, holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and her hand in the other, and being spied on by dozens of invisible eyes as she attempted to find a dry spot on the ground to sit on. His entire childhood was flashing before his eyes, staying up too late to watch Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, the movies about that annoying red-headed doll and the million excuses he had to come up with afterwards to sleep with his parents, despite his old age. He tired to ignore all the ghost stories he'd heard around camp fires, the many times his grandmother swore on her father's grave she saw something move by the corner, his father's affinity for throwing a white sheet over his head just to scare his children on Halloween night...

Aiden squeezed his hand, like she was somehow able to feel his pulse racing through layers of clothes, and he was glad she wasn't mocking him about this anymore, because he was sure she knew how scared he was. No use pretending anymore. This was ridiculous. So, he was scared of ghosts, so what? He was sure many people suffered from the same ailment. And it wasn't the fact that he had lived through a traumatic experience as a child, nothing like that. He just didn't like them, because he believed in them, was sure they were real and he didn't like anything that could spy on him while he was taking a shower. He didn't like that they could walk through walls, be in a room without being seen. He didn't like ghost stories, didn't like the movies, didn't like anything relating to them. If it made him a chicken shit, so be it.

"There," Aiden finally said, released his hand, and walked over to a spot near the window, where the light infiltrated the room.

"Great," Flack said unenthusiastically as he watched her circle the tiny spot around like a dog familiarizing himself with the area before lying down to sleep. She knelt down, inspected it closely and looked up at him with a grave expression. "I forgot the blanket."

"Leave it," he said quickly, walked over and sat on the dusty ground.

"You'd rather get your pants dirty than walk back out there and get the blanket from the trunk?" Aiden teased. "You're either very lazy or very scared."

"Take your pick and sit down."

Aiden chuckled as she did so, used the bag as a tiny mantle and sat on it. He opened a beer for her and drowned half a can quickly, because he knew the alcohol would relax him. She handed him his food and even though he wasn't very hungry anymore he began to eat it anyway, anything to distract himself from the fact that he was in the Staten Island monastery, a place he was sure was inhibited by ghosts, a place all his cop buddies wouldn't be caught dead in, because even though they were supposed to be fearless most of them were scared shit of it as well, and with good reason.

As Aiden ate her food she rambled on about the case, but Flack had a hard time hearing her. Between bites of Kung Pao Chicken he looked around the room, expecting the decapitated image of a monk to appear through the darkness and attack them with a ruler. He felt uncomfortable, like he was being watched, and that wasn't a good thing. His skin was clammy, his heart beating irregularly, but minutes went by without a single incident, which managed to ease his fears. Aiden's presence certainly helped, along with the fact that she was acting like they ate here every single night. He had to admire her fearlessness, because most of the women he met cried in fear at the mere mention of the monastery – most of the men, as well – and yet here was Aiden, happily chewing away at her orange chicken _inside_ the monastery.

He briefly wondered if his irregular heartbeat had anything to do with ghosts at all.

She shifted uncomfortably close to him suddenly and he could tell she was very cold, but Flack could also tell she would rather die before admitting to it. He also knew if he suggested leaving she'd find a way to blame it on his fear, so he remained quiet and shifted closer to attempt to warm her a little. She didn't seem to mind as she kept talking, now about her family and how her grandmother always claimed she could talk to dead people, sometimes in front of a young Aiden, and apparently that's why she had never feared ghosts. Apparently ghosts were nice and peaceful and there was, "no reason to fear them, Flack."

Flack knew better than that.

She was on her third childhood story and he on his second piece of chicken when suddenly, she stopped talking. Flack looked down at her, and frowned slightly at the frown on her face.

"What was that?" she whispered next to him.

Flack smirked instantly. "Very funny, Aiden."

"I'm serious," she said gravely, putting her food down and resting her hand on his upper arm.

Flack stopped chewing at her touch and looked down, trying to concentrate. He couldn't hear anything but the droplets of water dripping down the walls.

"You didn't hear that?" Aiden said, looking a little intimidated.

"Hear _what_?"

"Shh!" she exclaimed, inching closer.

Flack began to wonder if this was another one of her attempts to scare him when suddenly he could hear it, too. It was faint and far away but definitely real. Some kind of howling echoing through the rooms. Aiden wasn't laughing next to him; in fact, she was gripping on to his arm for dear life and he was sure he could hear her heart pounding. Or maybe it was his heart. It didn't matter. What mattered was that there was a definite howling and it wasn't coming from either of them, and Aiden was scared, which meant it _had_ to be bad.

And then the noise increased in volume, nearness, until they could both hear it as if whoever was responsible for it was standing but a few feet away from them. Aiden's skin instantly filled with goosebumps, every hair in her body stood on end and her throat trembled before she managed to croak out an unsteady, "Flack?"

"Okay, fuck this," Flack said, grabbed her hand and pulled her up with a strength he didn't know he had. She complained but he ignored her as he rushed through the rooms, praying he could still remember the way out. Another howling was all he needed to pick up his pace and start running, nearly dragging Aiden as she tried to keep up with him. A voice in his head again reminded him what a horrible idea this had been, but he ignored it because at this point regrets were fruitless. The howling seemed to increase behind them, in a way that made them both feel like they were being followed, when Flack finally spotted the entrance. This was usually the point in all those scary movies when the ghost would appear in front of them, or behind them, and take out the weakest link. So without thinking he gave Aiden a final pull and pushed her out of the building before him, something that surprised him because he had always been selfish when it came to his safety.

When they were finally outside he released her hand and she ran a couple of steps ahead of him before she stopped and turned around. Flack was breathing heavily, looking at the building behind him and attempting to catch his breath. He looked at Aiden. Her eyes were wide and brown, and he could see traces of fear in them still. She covered her heart with her hand and he could hear it pounding loudly despite the fact that she stood a few feet away from him.

But then suddenly, she began to laugh.

Loudly.

She laughed so loud and so hard she nearly fell to the ground. Her hands gripped her stomach and she looked so irresistible he couldn't help laughing, too. So he did, and he entertained the notion that they probably looked like a couple of idiots, standing outside the Staten Island monastery and laughing, but hell, he didn't care. There was no one around to witness their foolish behavior but the invisible eyes he knew spied on them from inside the monastery.

She was wiping tears off the corner of her eye when he approached her.

"What the hell was _that_?" she said between chuckles.

"I don't know," he replied lamely. That seemed to send her into another fit of giggles and seeing her so inhibited suddenly turned his cheeks bright red. He tried to keep up with her laughs but for some reason his own subsided into random chuckles as he watched her sway back and forth in her jubilant state. Flack all of a sudden felt drunk, dizzy and out of control, and when she swayed forward the fifth time his hands grabbed the lapels of her coat and he forced her to take a couple of steps towards him (he could always chalk it up to the fear and the joy and the weird hybrid they created, the way they made him feel, he didn't know, didn't care.)

Her laughing ceased when their bodies bumped into each other. Silence fell heavy around them again as he inched closer and pressed his lips to hers tentatively, testing the waters. Her expression was serious when he pulled back to look at her, but then a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she leaned into him again and while Flack could still hear the strange noises coming from the monastery he certainly didn't care anymore. What fool would? His hands pulled her closer and she settled in his arms nicely as he licked her lips apart. She opened her mouth for him and she tasted like orange chicken and beer and exhilaration, and if someone had told him this is what came from spending a night inside the monastery he would've done it a long, long time ago.

The fear melted away as Aiden's hands played with the black hairs on the base of his neck and she sighed when their tongues clashed. The cold she'd felt early was gone and replaced by a warm, tingling sensation in her stomach as Flack's gloved hands moved over her buttocks, attempting to pull her closer. She bit his lower lip and licked it, enjoying the small grunt she received for it. So she rested her hand on the side of his face and did it again, and in turn Flack intensified the kiss to something frantic and desperate, hot, urgent. He took a few steps forward but there was nowhere to go except back inside the monastery, so he stood there and let her bite him, let her hands play with his tie, her lips squeeze his own as he wondered why they had never done this before. What the hell was wrong with him?

When it became clear they both needed some time to breathe Flack nibbled on her lip one last time and pulled back. Her eyes opened – the fear was gone, he noted – and she smiled at him a little hesitantly. It made him feel like a king, the fact that he had managed to make Aiden Burn feel unsure about herself. He was certain there weren't a lot of people out there who could do that.

Aiden bit her lower lip, stared at his own as she played with his tie. "We left the food inside," she said because it was the first thing that came to mind and there was nothing she hated more than awkward silences. Her voice was lower than usual, her expression playful and dangerous.

Flack shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe they'll find it and eat it."

She grinned, feeling childish and dizzy, drunk, out of control but trying to ignore it or at least not show it as she played along with the inane conversation. "The ghosts?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Aiden said absentmindedly, kissing his lower lip briefly before she stepped away from his embrace completely. "But they'll be hungry again in an hour."

Flack chuckled and let her go, instantly missing the physical contact. As they walked towards the car he looked at her and smiled, and she didn't fail to notice his smug expression as he did so.

"What are you looking at?"

"You were scared," he teased.

Aiden gaped at him and shook her head stubbornly. "I wasn't scared."

"You were scared, Aiden," Flack mocked her as he opened the passenger door for her.

"It was the wind, Flack, okay?" she said before she got in the car, shut the door and waited for him to walk around and sit behind the wheel. As she watched him turn on the engine, with that foolish smile still plastered on his face, she turned to him. "It was the wind," she insisted.

He looked at her and smiled as he leaned in and captured her lips with his, ignoring the fact that the entire time they had been there he hadn't felt the tiniest gust of wind, or the fact that the night had been quiet, the trees weren't moving, the clouds were stagnant in the sky. He didn't have to be a scientist to know those factors disproved her desperate theory completely.

Instead, he smiled into her lips before he pulled back and settled on his seat comfortably. "You're right, it was probably the wind."

THE END


End file.
